Irresistible
by Juanita Dark
Summary: Kneel." It’s that simple a request. [Wyatt, Bianca]


Title: Irresistible

Author: Juanita Dark  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: Charmed S6, 'Chris-Crossed'.  
  
Summary: "Kneel." It's that simple a request.

Characters: Wyatt, Bianca.  
  
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure Brad, Burge and Spelling would object. Therefore not mine, no claims on the characters, no profit, and as yet no sleep. For the ironing out of plot bunnies only.

Author's notes: Don't ask me where this came from - I'm too damned tired. But a warning for darkfic, violence of dubious value and um, general morbidity, I guess.

Irresistible

now you are mine   
I'll keep killing you until the end of time 

surprise! you're dead! faith no more 

"Kneel."

It's that simple a request. Most don't want to do it, and almost all have to do.

She's never quite sure what sets him off - that they don't bow low enough, scrape long enough? If they have not done what he asked of them, well, that's **the** cardinal sin.

It means nothing less than the head.

How many has she seen separated from their bodies since their paths crossed in the attic? The number doesn't matter; she's no longer counting.

If the detainee doesn't kneel, he makes them. Sometimes he runs them through first, others, they get that choked off expression, and their hands go to their throats. If their powers preclude a need for air, he telekinetically forces them into position. Regardless of how strong, fearless, heartless or reckless - they all go to their knees - and they stay there until they're dead on the ground.

There's always this long staggered walk - not cold, not arrogant, not aggressive - just perfunctory. No words spoken until he calls for the sword, never in anger but with what could be called supreme confidence - in his power, of his ability. He steps to the condemned like he's maintaining a batting average - and the blood always, _always_, catches her - wherever she stands.

After the third or fourth time she doesn't know how he does it but she knows it's deliberate - that she shimmers out of his presence spattered in blood.

After the sixth time, she knows he likes to hit the face. And it doesn't seem to matter either, that she looks away now at the last second. Always the blood, always the face - sometimes the face _and _the chest.

Somewhere between the eighth and ninth time it achieves a critical mass in her mind: _the thing with the blood has to stop._

* * *

The first time someone closed their eyes forever on the hilt of her blade - the first time she killed - it was quick and painless. _For them_. But the act itself took forever to reach its conclusion in her mind. The shock that she had done it, and could not now undo it; there was no way **not** to turn it over and over in her mind and discover what it meant for her. That she had been told to expect to feel nothing only increased its significance.

The swing of the arm travelling as swiftly as it could upwards, like a rigid extension of the blade, up, up, and buried into something that could only give way like flesh.

* * *

The tenth time is the charm. There's so much blood it drips - and she's had the black blood, green blood, pale blood, even blood of ochre - but this blood is red. It tips the synapses of her brain and penetrates deep to the killer within. Once engaged it is a cogent, irrepressible machine.

It cannot be stopped.

The execution is no sooner summarily performed, than he orders his audience to leave.

"Except for you, Bianca."

Then the athame appears in her hand and she throws the blade. As expected it is deflected away from his body, his congenital shield re-manifesting when she shimmers out and back in again to retrieve the weapon. Shimmering behind him she is surprised to find an opening - but brings the blade down without hesitation… on orbs that dissolve and scatter and just as unexpectedly reform.

He pushes her away - so hard, so fast that she is halfway across the room and falling onto her back before she shimmers out again.

Only this time she shimmers in from above him, driving into his body with an unnatural momentum - the blade at the point of her landing. They collapse on top of each other breathing hard. He takes her weight, and her length. As taught, as trained, she pulls and yanks it out hard - this time without compunction - without any feeling at all.

The wound is mortal. And immediately heals itself.

Wyatt's expression is nothing if not moved by an unmistakeable pleasure.

Her game face slips.

Genuinely shaken, she shimmers out.

She knows now only how to bring him momentary pain.

* * *

His request for her presence at the next 'testimony' is as direct as it is overriding.

Not a drop of blood falls on her this time but she is asked again to remain (even though he can detain her with a gesture).

The resulting fight is a replay of the first - only this time he draws the sword.

The pain is more exaggerated - as is his pleasure; she knows how to bring him this in their mutual numbness.

* * *

The third time she refuses to fight, so he beats her to the ground - and then curiously heals her wounds.

The fourth time is a fight to the death.

The fifth time is a Trojan horse - the contours of his body change and he becomes her lover. But Chris' form cannot disguise Wyatt's voice calling for the sword.

She almost cuts his throat.

The sixth and seventh time mean nothing.

The eighth and ninth time mean everything, and she feels his pleasure find an echo in her movements.

* * *

The tenth time the pleasure is her own. And by then he knows he has already forgiven her. 


End file.
